What if? Could Change the World
by It's-a-simple-life
Summary: We wonder after looking back on the life of one, Sirius Black, that if he was going to be the first known for escaping Hell on Earth, why not do it sooner? What if's haunt us, making us think what would change...when these what if's were put into play... Hiatus, for those who actually read this. It's summer :
1. PreChapter Thingy

'**What if?' Could Change the World**

**Disclaimer: **Yes, I am the master of Harry Potter, the ultimate genius who created it all! Wait, what? I _don't_? You LIE! Fine, fine, *grumbling* I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling owns these unbelievable characters, thanks for ruining my dream! *going off to cry in a corner*

**A/N** Ahem, anyway...s_o this is my first ever story on here, and I think I may continue with it but this is a little taste of what could happen. Erm, well, wish me luck in the world of FanFiction, for I'm sure this shall be interesting…*gulp*_

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><p>Many wonder, after looking back on the life of one, Sirius Black- otherwise known as Stubby Boardman, or Serious Black- that if he was going to be the first to be known for escaping Hell on Earth, why not do it sooner? Why not as soon as he was slammed into that cell wall, feeling the first effects of a dementor clawing its way through his soul, clutching at the memories of home at Number 12 Grimmauld Place? Face it; we all know that was Hell for him before he was rescued into James Potter's open arms.<p>

If Stubby was going to leave it all behind for the only thing worth living for, to watch over his godson, why not the first time his slowly dulling eyes fell upon the decaying rot they have the nerve to call 'food?' Or what about when the all-consuming image of James and Lily's bodies- lying lifeless under the charred remains of their house, their eyes nothing but open orbs, flecked with the light of the stars they would never see again- became too much for a lone man, that he realized Padfoot must take his place?

Why did the world's most wanted man in both worlds- Muggle and Wizard- not just get up and leave when he had the first chance? And if he did, would he escape like he's still famous for, even after being beaten by a curtain, or would he still have enough clear thoughts, not clouded by the dementors never-satisfied starvation for happiness, to call for help inside his box that was always shrinking until 'The Grimm' chased that feeling away?

So many 'what-ifs' that could have been answered if a certain flaming-topped family won a lottery sooner, and if a man who never had any interest in the crossword, had only asked for the paper an earlier day...

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><p><strong>AN **_So… *bouncing up and down* what did you think? It was terrible wasn't it? Oh, I'm so sorry that your poor little innocent eyes had to witness *waves hand over computer screen* _this_. Here's a cookie for your troubles *hands over plate of steaming cookies*Anyway, thanks for suffering through that and please leave a review, who knows, I might continue it. I think I will…maybe...Yes…erm…just leave me to my thoughts with myself. I'll be back soon enough with more…most likely…toodles! :)_


	2. I am Innocent

'**What if?' Could Change the World**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>Of course I own Harry Potter, what planet are you on that I don't own it? Oh, Earth? Well, I guess that means I don't own all these amazing characters...*sigh* Back to Mars to visit Marvin the Martian for me...

**A/N** I'm BACK! Sorry it took so long, I'll explain at the bottom, but for now...*drum roll* Ta-dah!

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><p>What crosses one's mind when one has a thought of Azkaban? A thought could be 'Oh, it's that Wizard Prison, the one for the maniacs.' Or maybe the feel of bone-chilling Dementors, sucking out every happy memory you've ever known, floats through the body. Maybe one thinks of Alcatraz, the famous San Francisco federal prison. Yet, the most common thought is of the 'maniacs' that are held there: they deserve it. <em>They deserve it<em>. Yes, it seems to be a common thought that those ignorant of what really happens to those fortunate enough to enter the prison located on an island in the middle of the North Sea.

I, personally, cannot say what I think, but I can tell you what one prisoner thinks. I can tell you what a prisoner innocent of all charges against him believes of that place. Yes, I can tell you what Sirius Black thinks...when he is able to have complete thoughts anyway. You see, this particular prisoner is held in an extremely high-security prison. Dementors never leave him, if they are surrounding his cell or not. Dementors never escape his mind. Even if he is unaware, their hunger for happiness is always lurking behind the scenes, waiting patiently for the moment when that one hopeful thought manages to form, and they pounce, the thought immediately devoured.

But now I'm falling off my original course I have set for our journey. Mr. Black- perhaps it is wisest to stick with Sirius Black or Black, I think he would appreciate it- Sirius Black cannot usually complete his thoughts because they are happy, and before they can even grace his mind, the Dementors make it as though it had never been born.

Oh, you don't know what a Dementor is? You are a lucky thing.

I'm sure a wise man, perhaps a werewolf, who dreams of a Professor's job at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, will say in the future, "_Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them... Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself...soulless and evil. You will be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life."_

But what he thinks of Azkaban, or he'd rather call 'My own personal bloody Hell', is entirely the opposite of what the Dementors crave, it is in fact what they encourage: dark. He hates it, he hates the place, he wants it gone, and he wants it to disappear. It is so terrible being forced inside his own, twisted, mad mind that he wants to return to Grimmauld Place where his mother may still be alive. If he could take a choice between Azkaban and what he believed was Hell as he grew up- how wrong he was- he would dash into Number Twelve with open arms, embracing his mother even as Walburga Black fell into a rage of _Blood Traitor! Abomination! Shame of my flesh!_ And if he had to live out his days with that, he would be grateful. Alright, maybe not grateful, but at least he would not be trapped inside the ever-shrinking box that was his mind.

I'm sure that wise young man included in this discussion earlier will also say something along the lines of, "_They don't need walls and water to keep the prisoners in, not when they're trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheerful thought. Most go mad within weeks."_

And this man will be correct, but he has left out an exception to the rule: how can you go somewhere you already are? Alright, Sirius Black is not mad, but he has been left to rot inside his own mind with only depressing, hateful memories and regrets that cannot be retracted no matter how raw his throat becomes from all his screaming that he is not aware is happening half the time. Black went quiet after a few days though, following along the path of the others, because they all go quiet eventually...except for the few that shriek in their sleep. Sirius Black cannot help but listen to those quickly losing the power over what they think of around him, crushing what spark of hope he has left not to follow along with them. Every day he is less than a touch away with them, until Padfoot emerges within, taking control, chasing the nightmares away long enough to fight back until the morning comes, when a new horde of fears takes over.

Most do go mad in Azkaban, and plenty go off food in the end. They lose the will to live, and one could always tell when death was coming because the Dementors could sense it, they'd get excited. If one was to go back and ask the Marauders why Sirius Black was the one to keep his will to live, one would most likely receive a response similar to "He's a stubborn git." If one was to ask Black that exact question after his tortured soul is set free, he might respond with a sentence along the lines of "It was the fact that I knew he was alive and safe, and he alone was a big enough motivation to keep me going." Black might grin and turn, stalking away without another word, before scooping up a small, raven-haired, emerald-eyed boy into his arms. Then he may stroll back to add one last comment, "It may have helped that I was innocent, and was the only one to believe it, too," and with a wink followed by a minor head tilt, he would disappear.

What if, in the future, Sirius Black breaks out of his personal Hell hole? What if something jolts a small obsession awake, ensnaring his senses and energy into fulfilling his role as a godfather? I'm sure with Padfoot taking his place he could easily slip through the bars and swim to land. But why not do it sooner, why did Black need that something to awaken his obsession to help an escape? Because, that something was his Godson, his Godson was a happy thought, and happy thoughts are devoured in Azkaban before they can even exist. But maybe in the future, he finds a way to morph that happy thought into an obsession, something that even Dementors cannot capture and destroy. But for now, he has no happy thoughts that will stay a companion to his side, and he has no obsession guiding his way to an escape. For now.

This has taken much longer than I had ever hoped to explain everything I wanted to, but alas, I don't know what you may already know before we start our journey, and every bit above is crucial to understand the mind of one, Sirius Black.

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><p><em>They deserve it...They <em>_**deserve **__it...__**You **__deserve it..._

_ It's your fault, you know it..._

_They're dead...he's an orphan...all alone..._

_ Forced to face the world __**alone**__..._

_You are forever trapped in what you deserve..._

_ All. Your. __**Fault**__._

An image of James and Lily's bodies- lying lifeless under the charred remains of their house, their eyes nothing but open orbs, flecked with the light of the stars they would never see again- jumped quickly across my mind before it became too much. The words were bellowed out, like knives against my throat, raw and hoarse from years without use, "SHUT UP!"

The image faded into oblivion and the voice was whisked away, still echoing throughout my mind, "You know the truth..."

A harsh whisper answered the voice, "Yes, I know the truth: I am innocent." I, otherwise known as Sirius Black, the guards called me ΧΨ390, had vanished, and in my place was the shadow of a thin, yet hulking, dog with matted fur that was dark as night which surrounded wide, deadening eyes.

Merlin, it was a relief to be in my other form.

The last human thought to trail through my simplifying mind was not a strong one: It's still my fault it ended this way.

As soon as those words were formed, they diminished into less complex feelings, those of an animal's. A single Dementor glided by my cell, leaving Padfoot- for that is my animagus name- to curl into himself, trembling as if he had been force-fed an entire iceberg. Pale eyes hid themselves behind the lids for a moment, biding his time as he waited for the voices of my worst memories and feelings to shut the bloody hell up.

It was not long before two grey eyes cracked open and the Dementor turned what Padfoot supposed was similar to a head, the emotionless eyes staring straight into the Dementor's very soul. Or several souls, because it had none but those it had devoured. For a moment a staring contest was taking place- Hey mom, I had a staring contest with one of the foulest creatures of the earth today- before the monster switched its focus to another hopeless soul- and I won! It most likely believed that I was losing my mind like the rest of them; therefore, I held no bother for it.

Slowly, the trembles that had been rocking Padfoot's thin frame for the past moments diminished into nothing. Padfoot's eyes drooped, attempting to shield any oncoming slaughts of terrors that could do the Muggle writer Stephen King justice.

Padfoot decided that it would be wise to stay in the current form for the remainder of the night. Perhaps he would get some sleep, a gift in itself throughout the walls of the dungeons that stood marked with death and decay. Padfoot pushed off the ground on stiff limbs, circling the cell once before collapsing into a mass of black fur on the stone floor. Only one thought stayed a comfort throughout the nightmares:

I am innocent.

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><p>A bloodcurdling scream slashed through the darkness that was my thoughts, awaking the prisoners throughout the hall. Brutal begging pierced the silence that had followed the scream, but then all was silent. They all went silent sometime...<p>

I stood facing the tiny barred window that allowed my vision a limited view on the morning sky and at the rising sun. Just barely had I survived another night, and my mind was still debating if there should be celebration of the fact, or a drowning in despair moment. What muscles remained ached, the cold from those _things _were starting to seep through my skin again. I shook my head before reaching to the ceiling, taking satisfaction in the sounds of bones popping into place.

I was tall with broad shoulders, loss of muscle making its way through my body after years of no exercise, unless running and slamming into the bars on the door repeatedly made for exercise. Nonetheless, I had a striking appearance, and any reasonable person would think twice before attempting a scuffle. The cause of thinking twice because of my 'crimes' or the fact that my presence was morphing into one of a living corpse, I wasn't quite sure.

My eyes took in the small, seedy cell, the broken cot that had been that way since hour one and the bit of straw that served as my bed for the nights now; not that sleep had ever found me on it. The walls were heavy blocks of stone, too strong even for Rubeus Hagrid, and were additionally warded by magic to stick together. Besides that, there was a jug with what I hoped was water- the murky coloring was the deciding factor. The candles from the hall flickered and danced across the metal bars on the window and door, glimmering maliciously at me. I hated this place.

Twisted hair splayed itself over my vision, yet it was cleaner than the norm- as clean as one could obtain in the deepest depths of this prison's icy breath, anyway. The wizard guards had allowed the prisoners the privilege of a shower a period of time ago. While waiting in line to enter the showers, I had been able to overhear a conversation between too aurors. In the end it all meant one thing: Fudge was coming.

It took up until ice was cascading off my skin, and minutes away from the soul-sucking filths, to realize what it all meant: The Minister was coming, we must keep up appearances. My mind couldn't even comprehend why they even bothered to allow the soaking in water that could easily freeze over Pettigrew's heart- he'd need one of those first- as all knew Fudge didn't care for the well-being of those stuck in here. He'd be happier if we started to mold over like the bread they dared serve as meals.

The shower could not even be called a shower; it consisted of being shoved under a jet spray of bone-chilling liquid- most weren't even sure if it was water because it resembled murky milk more than anything. After between twenty to sixty seconds of that, one would be manhandled by aurors back to their cell.

For me, though, I was taken under different circumstances after I took my turn of almost drowning.

Normal prisoners were simply held firmly by a couple of guards; sometimes accompanying them would be a Dementor or two, depending on the crime. Then again, normal prisoners had no strength left for a struggle so there was no point in being cautious.

But really, since when have I, Sirius Black, been classified as 'normal'?

That thought alone made me chuckle.

I had been accused of murdering thirteen citizens in broad daylight; a massacre the Daily Prophet had called it. (Really, if I was to murder someone- Pettigrew perchance- I would do it where there could be no witnesses. Azkaban may have taken the more complex thoughts from my mind, but I still had common sense) I had supposedly blown the whole streets to bits, and body parts strewn everywhere, decorating the grounds in a shimmering red.

"Big supporter of You-Know-Who" the guards would mumble whenever they strolled by. That was the nicer version of what circulated Azkaban anyway.

"When a wizard goes to the Dark Side, there's nothing and no one that matters to them anymore..." A tall, lanky man had murmured when they hauled me away from the crime scene.

And I laughed; I did nothing but laugh as my arms were gripped roughly and pulled away from the street. Even when my throat turned raw I was still laughing. As my body was thrown into my home for what I thought would be only weeks- Remus knew I would never do such a thing, he'll save me- crazed chuckles still escaped my mouth. The aurors had sneered comments to one another while the sound of metallic clicks and the scraping of the cell door closing filled my hearing.

I wanted to correct them, to scream that I hadn't gone around the bend but the world had, the world was the one that was acting mad.

"I am innocent," I whispered that night, my eyes gazing unseeingly at the cell wall. The first of many nights spent a prisoner within my own mind.

Because of my 'crimes' I would become heavily chained after a shower, my hands tied behind my back which also snuck its way around my boney torso. The precautions they went through brought an amused smile to my face. How delirious they were...

After being chained like I was in a loony bin (wasn't that where I was?), I'd casually stroll down the spaces between cells with Dementors gliding dangerously by my side, and I'd be letting out the occasional "Hurry up!" to the aurors.

I was quite aware that doing so made those surrounding nervous; it only brought a grin to my decaying features. This, of course, horrified them to a higher extent. If I was going to remained confined in here, I might as well make it interesting- that was my motto.

But today, the Moron of Magic was coming. I had not a thought of how long it had been since the last Minister's visit; days, weeks, perhaps years? I could not conjure up that simple conclusion.

I remembered when it had been months since I had been introduced to Azkaban, it had become difficult to keep track of time and memories. It seemed to become meaningless, more often I would come to suffer breakdowns in the walls that closed in, suffocating me, reaching in to claw out my will to live. Life had evolved into an unending struggle in misery, split down the middle into dull torments, and vivid torments. Night time was the worst.

No light entered my cell during the nights; it would transition into a box of black. That was when pictures and images would appear, like in a Muggle movie centre, my worst memories betraying my protests to be played on loop. It would continue until a glimpse of light would enter. The light would chase away the dark for the time being.

That was the ritual I went through over that period, until I found a new, much stronger and brighter light: Padfoot.

Padfoot was all that allowed me to cling to that strand of sanity that I had been collecting and saving like a ball of yarn. Padfoot was a saviour and shelter against the merciless drag of the Dementors hunger, their starvation never to be filled. He would stop the monsters from unsheathing their non-existent fangs and destroying what was left of me.

When my memories started to trickle away, I knew all was lost...

I was slammed back into reality when the sound of a pompous gait reflected throughout the floor. I thought, perhaps, it had been three years since the last visit.

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><p>I tilted my head to the left, my black hair whispering against the skin just below my bare shoulders, and listened to the murmur of voices coming closer to my cell.<p>

Nothing but split sentences.

Anything to distract myself from the all-consuming loneliness which threatened to overwhelm my world completely like it had done to so many others, I trained my ears more closely to make out their words. I took a step a little closer once the gap between words became smaller. Wand light flickered into the corridor that was in my line of vision, and soon the group of men appeared.

In the middle was who I assumed was Cornelius Fudge- I only had the chance to see the man in Daily Prophet scraps the aurors would save for me, they'd choose to throw in the ones with Sirius Black-bashing articles. He was a portly man, small and wearing a long, pinstriped cloak which matched his forest green bowler hat.

He looked cold and worn, each step taken with a slight tremor. For an odd reason, it made me release a dark chuckle; Fudge had barely been in this place an hour and I could already see the signs of wanting to flee: the constant pulling of his cloak ever tighter in an attempt to escape the cold, eyes blinking furiously to clear his vision, and the faint shaking of his balding head to rid of the Dementors oncoming effects.

Several of the more-experienced aurors had twisted their necks to see where the dark noise had come from. Their eyes narrowed into slits as they took in the sight of my lean body supported by the stone cell wall. A few guards even sneered, more than likely murmuring curses and exchanging their views on me to each other.

Fudge finally caught sight of what was occurring after noticing that no one was left in his audience, raising an eyebrow at my smirk- no doubt thinking I was just another raving lunatic. It was after I decided to step out of the shadows and reveal myself when a breath caught in his throat, realizing that, yes, I was indeed Sirius Black.

After flipping his attention back to those surrounding him and exchanging more words, one of the aurors- Dawlish I think his name was- snapped his wand on several attempts before a small, silver hyena filled the air with instantaneous warmth. Fudge snapped his wrinkly fingers, summoning a single Dementor. It was an obvious act that proved Fudge thought quite highly of himself; summoning a creature that could suck your soul out in a matter of seconds like a servant waiting for its master's command.

They trooped over to where I stood patiently waiting, my back to the pack. I spun around, the all-too familiar icy cold penetrating my insides, fog beginning to form around the edge of my vision, my own personal earthquake rolling down my body in waves.

And then, through the images that were drowning me, the fog began to clear as the hyena patronus stopped at the bars separating the Minister from me.

"Good day, Black," the last word was spoken as though it might poison Fudge if he said it too nicely. I couldn't exactly blame him; I hated the name too.

I shot him a flashy smile, revealing several yellowing teeth, "Hello Minister, I assume you didn't come all the way to this lovely place just to say hello to me? If that is the true reason, though, I do feel quite honoured."

It still gave me a small amount of satisfaction to see the guards at Fudge's side shy away from me. They were all afraid of the big bad mass murderer. Even after all these years. A slow smirk spread its way over my face, but before it could reach my pale eyes, it faded away to nothing but a twitch of the lips. Joyful thoughts were still short-lived here, even with a patronus by my side.

But for me, this relief, as the other beggars in this Hell hole called it, was hardly worth producing a thought bubble. My problem wasn't the Dementors, the guards, or even the constant shrieking created from other prisoners that woke me up at night; my problem was being locked in a dingy cell, surrounded by reinforced magic- made just for me- and being all alone with no one. I hated it.

I hated a lot of things (why not?) but I really hated that.

"Sirius Black, the man behind the mask, now the man behind the bars," I wasn't sure why the man felt the need to state all this, it's not like I had no idea I was in prison.

"What? Since when have I been behind bars?" I sarcastically replied, a finger tapping against the door. "Well, will you look at that? Huh, guess I'm not as observant as I used to be."

This comment took the effect that I had hoped for, as Fudge's face swelled up in anger and he began to sputter, "Why you...how dare...I am the Minister of Magic!"

My eyes fell across my clawing hands, pretending to be absorbed in ridding of the dirt trudged beneath the nails.

The incompetent ninny continued to blubber, "I insist you treat me with some respect! I hold the power to make life in here worse, Black!"

Because of that, of course, I let out a laugh that could be mistaken for maniacal, "_Worse_? How can this possible be worse than it is now? Those _beasts _following my every move, and that's just the aurors!" At that, the guards narrowed their eyes, offended. "The Dementors are outside my door, day and night, never once leaving me by myself for a moment!" A well placed scoff here. "Yes, good luck making this place much worse, _Minister_." I shot the title back at the man with as much venom as he did mine, already starting to taste the vomit on my tongue just from speaking it.

If I believed that the Moron of Magic had no possibility of being a closer cousin to the tomato, I was wrong.

"The Dementors seem to have no affect on you, sir,"-why is he still trying with the titles- "as you stand there grinning and joking. I thought perhaps other Ministers had been exaggerating when they said that you were having a grand old time in here, but it seems they did not state it enough!"

My eyes had fallen down to the light radiating off Dawlish's patronus when I replied, "Yes, yes, I'm a bad, mad man who must learn from his mistakes. Now, was there a reason you skipped over to here or was it just to make a complete fool of yourself?" My head tilted to the side as the hyena looked back to me, a matching smirk on its face, and I could already feel the forced cold melting away.

"I came over to investigate the situation in which you currently hold, but that was obviously a mistake."

Ah, so he agreed that he made a stupid show of himself; maybe he wasn't a complete loss after all.

"That's all and well, Fudge, but unless you have come to gift me with this patronus,"- said being turned its head around to take in the Minister. Another chuckle managed to escape. Maybe I was losing my mind, laughing every other minute-"Then I suggest you move along before I decide to show you why I'm famous."

The others shifted nervously: weaklings.

Fudge seemed to be making an effort to dismiss the comment, "Yes...well...I must be going now. Enjoy your remaining years in here, Black."

With those spoken words the Minister spun on his heel and briskly trotted away. That was when I caught sight of a piece of paper curled in his hands.

"Oi, Fudge!" The man stopped in his tracks, back still facing feet away from me, taking deep breaths. I was glad to know that I had completed my goal of reaching his nerves.

"Yes?"

"Can I have the paper? I do miss doing the crossword."

Fudge turned slowly, an eyebrow already raised in a questioning manner.

"The crossword?" He began to walk back, his little posse dragged along like puppets. I wondered what would happen once their strings were cut...

I pushed my body off of the stone wall before replying, "Yes, the crossword. I'm not entirely an idiot, regardless of what is being spread around outside of these walls."

The man cautiously stopped a foot from the taunting bars on the door- perhaps he did take my 'famous' comment seriously. "But you have no quill, no ink," he sneered, "How do you expect to do them?"

"I use a little something called a brain, I'm not sure if you have ever turned yours on." A pause for laughter, yet there was none was produced but from the hyena. "I'll remember the answers. I miss doing the crossword, are you really going to deprive a dying man of something so simple?"

Fudge began thinking, that's what it looked like anyhow, his face was contorted- most likely too much work for one who does not perform such an action often enough.

A hand holding a copy of the Daily Prophet was shoved under the space beneath the cell door, "Keep it."

Fudge turned once again, this time taking the warmth and happiness with him, all the while muttering, "Lunatic...five years in here...sane...maybe not...definitely not..."

I could no longer see the multitude of guards or the new Minister, but my hearing told me that they were taking their last trip down this corridor for a long time. Their bodies faded into the shrinking shadows, leaving me to my own actions.

After taking a minute to adjust to the sudden rush of death and decay, I slumped by body down to the floor, back against the wall. The new Minister was already forgotten, he wouldn't last long anyway. I stared at the fully-risen sun and fell back into my indescribable state of longing and depression. Peace would not find me here, never, for peace did not come to Azkaban. No one did, not of their own free will.

Finally turning my attention to the crumpled copy of the Daily Prophet, my agile fingers flipped through pages filled to the brim with ads:

_Ollivanders Wands- the best in the country; reliable, cheap, and friendly, one-on-one service!_

Why would Ollivanders need to buy ads? Last I heard the man was the place where every young witch or wizard went to for wands.

_Comet Buster Three Eighty- state of the art racing technology! Carefully selected willow twigs give this broom undeniable balance and pinpoint precision..._

That particular ad brought back happy memories...

"_Sirius Black! You bought a one-year old a toy __**broom**__ for his birthday!"_

"_Come on, Lils, it's not a terrible gift, and besides, what kind of Godfather would I be if I didn't get Harry a toy broom?"_

"_You'd be responsible one, that's the kind!"_

"_Now, Lily, can't you see it? He's going to be a great__ Quidditch player one day, just like his old man."_

"_We will talk about this later, James, but we have to get Harry off the infernal thing before he ends up..."_

_CRASH!_

"_SIRIUS BLACK!"_

The rest of the happenings of that night were drowned by the cold. It was beginning to feel as if a Muggle healer had dug a needle into different parts of my body, liquid ice seeping through my veins.

My mind cleared itself the best it could before letting my eyes rove over the rest of the paper- after setting the crossword aside, of course- when a wizard photograph hit me at the force of a Hagrid-sized hug.

That was the moment it happened.

That was the moment when my whole life took an expected turn.

That was the moment I laid my eyes on that bastard who stole away so many honest lives all those years ago.

This was when I decided I wouldn't stand for it anymore.

This was when I realized I had proof.

This was when the last time I would let myself repeat "I am innocent" and be the only one to know it.

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><p><strong>AN **What took so long, you say? It started when Sirius and I decided to take a portal to Narnia to get some inspiration. You see, it's very magical so he figured it would work well. That was until the Dawn Treader 'accidently' flipped because _somebody _*stares at Sirius* thought it'd be a good idea to start a party, and my laptop got soaked and died. So blame that bugger over there for your late update.

Ahem, okay, the reality was that my dad took the laptop when he went to Ottawa for work for a week and couldn't write then. Then when I started writing, I was finished in a day, but decided it was so bad that I wanted to go to Narnia to flip the Dawn Treader to destroy my work. Then my dad had to do taxes on the laptop so I couldnt re-write it then...but in the end *badda-boom badda-bing* here we are! :)

-ΧΨ390 is taken from Sirius' mug shot in the PoA movie, look it up, homie ;) I'm not lying.

Most chapters will not be this long, sorry to say. Thank you for taking time to read this, I appreciate that you had to suffer worse than Azkaban to read it, so thank you very much! Here's a Comet Buster Three Eighty for your troubles.


	3. I Know I Can

_**READ ME AND GAIN A COOKIE**_

*sighs* I really need to choose some other bribes besides cookies and broomsticks...any suggestions?

Anyway...I really hated this chapter so it will be down for 1-3 days while I rewrite it. I could leave it up but I don't want you guys to see it, I hate it that much. Sorry for any inconvenience for those who wanted to show their friends what something truly scarring looks like ;)

Bye for now, my little morphlings! (I just read Catching Fire and it's first thing that popped into my mind...XD) _*turns to apparate. Freezes*_

Here is the cookie _*hands over a cookie*_

Love you all, especially you! _*points to who reviews*_

**_SOOOOOO_**

I forgot exams are this week and next week and last week, therefore I haven't been able to rewrite this chapter. I'm heading into an exam tomorrow for math that I need at least a 60% to pass my class. I'm currently experiencing a panic attack because no matter how many times I read how to complete the square or SOHCAHTOA or Sine law, nothing is going in and I'm gonna fail and have to do summer school then fail that and have to do grade 10 math next year and...*deep breath* I hate exams -.-

Wish me luck


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